


They're Generation Steam Heat

by larry_hystereks



Series: Hit the Pedal, Heavy Metal [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Punk, Anal Sex, Derek is a hispter writer with tattoos, First Time, M/M, Nipple Piercings, Punk Band Au, Tattoos, Tongue Piercings, derek also wears glasses, stiles is a sweaty drummer who smokes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-01
Updated: 2013-04-01
Packaged: 2017-12-07 05:33:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/744844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/larry_hystereks/pseuds/larry_hystereks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Music journalist and certified hipster Derek Hale is sent to write a review on a local punk band. He would've hated everything about it if it weren't for the band's drummer, Stiles Stilinski.</p>
            </blockquote>





	They're Generation Steam Heat

**Author's Note:**

> So there were an overwhelming amount of punk edits on my dash and this fic just kinda happened.

Derek doesn’t understand why he’s at this stupid show anyway. Well he knows why, it’s his job, but still. There’s too many bodies in the small club, too many people ranging from ages 16 to 25 that are covered in tattoos, piercings and an overwhelming amount of sweat.

Seriously it fucking smells like raging hormones.

Derek wouldn’t be caught dead here if it wasn’t for the new manager at the newspaper, the newspaper he works for, writes for. And is his manager a bitch. It doesn’t help that Derek slept with her back when she was just an editor, how was he supposed to know that she’d become his boss one day? Hell he was too drunk to realize that Kate Argent was the previous owner’s daughter of _Argent News_.

He’s not perceptive, sue him.

But anyway, Derek never called her back so of course, of course, Kate sends him to some rowdy punk concert for a local band so he can write a review.

He had tried to argue with her, saying he didn’t know anything about punk music, not enough to write a decent and fair review anyway. Kate had dismissed him, saying that Derek and his stupid tattoos would let him fit in just fine.

Fuck her.

Not literally, he’d already done that and he realized there was probably a reason he usually went for guys.

Some scrawny kid with gages the size of Derek’s fist comes onto stage announcing that _The Wolves and Little Red,_ the main act for tonight, are about to take stage. An uproar of cheers come from the crowd around him and Derek fights back at scowling at them all, instead pushing at his dark glasses so they slide back into place on the bridge of his nose.

The band, or so Derek assumes since the cheers are getting even louder, starts to file out on stage. Derek hadn’t looked into the band to see who they were but he feels like he should’ve because they are not at all what he expected.

There’s a tanned skinned kid with floppy brown hair and an uneven jaw with tattoo sleeves covering both his arms that’s slinging on a guitar. Another boy grabs a bass with curly brown hair and a vast amount of piercings. The kid behind the keyboard is built like a house with chocolate colored skin and thin mohawk on his head. They’re all pretty attractive, sure, but they’ve got nothing on the kid working his way over to the drums.

Derek has to stop his mouth from actually falling open at the sight before him. Pale skin that he wants to bite into almost as much as he wants to lick the tattoo curving on his neck. His hair looks like he just rolled out of bed and he has small gages in his ears. The red shirt he’s wearing clings to him like a second skin, rolled up at the sleeves, revealing yet another tattoo on his shoulder, the dark ink contrasting bewteen it and his ivory skin. The boys got a cigarette hanging from his lips as he grabs his drumsticks.

Derek swallows.

The kid with the floppy brown hair takes the mic, smiling goofily at the screaming crowd.

“How’s everyone doing tonight!?” He yells out. The fans scream back in response and he chuckles. “Glad to hear! Alright for those of you who don’t know, I’m Scott, this here is Isaac,” he says pointing back to the kid with piercings, “this is Boyd,” the man at the keyboard raises his hand to the crowd, “and this is Stiles.”

The kid takes a drag from his cigarette and raises it, puffing out a cloud of smoke. Stiles. The kid’s name is Stiles.

“We are _The Wolves and Little Red_ and this is _Howling_.” Scott says.

There’s more screaming around him as Stiles starts up on the drums, followed shortly by Scott on the guitar and soon the whole bands playing.

It’s not Derek’s type of music, but they aren’t the worst he’s heard and the crowd seems to be enjoying it quite a bit. The fans around him seem to know all the words, screaming them and dancing around without a care in the world.

Derek would’ve been annoyed by this if he wasn’t so focused on the fucking drummer. He’s ditched the cigarette, but his mouth hangs open as he constantly wets his lips while he plays rhythmically on the drums. Derek desperately wants to lick the line of sweat forming on his neck.

He’s gotta say though, the rest of the band is something too. Isaac head bangs the entire time, his mop of hair sweaty and sticking all over the place. Boyd pounds on the keyboard like it owes him money and Scott wails into the mike with everything he’s got.

Derek loses it though when Stiles peels off his shirt hallway through the show. He’s only got one thing to say: nipple piercings.

It’s hard to focus on too much after that but pretty soon Scott’s thanking the crowd for coming out and bidding them farewell. The band waves to their fans as they exit, Stiles throws his drumsticks to the crowd and slides his sweaty red shirt across his shoulders.

The crowd starts to fan out and Derek finds himself moving towards the backstage entrance. He shows the security guy there his news reporter pass so he gets access. There isn’t much to the backstage area so he just follows the sounds of people talking until he’s at the back of the building and comes across the band packing up their van and leaving.

“Can we help you?” Boyd asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, sorry, I uh, I write for _Argent News_ , music journalist, I was wondering if I could ask you guys a couple of questions?” He pushes at his glasses almost unconsciously.

“Baby you can ask me anything.” A voice pipes up. Derek turns around and Stiles is standing there, a smirk surrounding the freshly lit cigarette on his lips. Derek swallows thanking his lucky stars that Stiles had put a shirt back on.

“I’m Stiles, though you probably already know that since you were at our show.” He takes a drag, huffing out some smoke.

“I’m Derek.”

Stiles’ smirk seems to broaden as he makes an approving sound and lets his eyes roam Derek shamelessly. Derek coughs awkwardly.

“Stiles, keep your dick under control he’s here from the newspaper, he’s like a professional.” Scott groans.

“Actually I’m still in college.” Derek finds himself saying.

Isaac rolls his eyes. “Dude whatever, listen we got another show tomorrow in like fucking Seattle. I’d like to sleep sometime between then and now.”

“Yeah, sorry.” He grabs at his back pocket for the pad of paper he always keeps there and his pen. He looks up again to see all the members of the band in front of him. “Okay, so how long have you been together? Like as a band?”

“Two years.” Scott says, smiling. It seems like all the kid does is smile. “I’ve known Stiles since we were in diapers, met Isaac sophomore year and met Boyd at the end of senior year.”

Derek takes a minute to write that down before he asks another question. “How did you all get involved with music?”

“I was trained classically, but it was bullshit and a waste of time so I started fucking around in bands.” Boyd answered.

“My brother taught me how to play bass.” Isaac said, his voice lighter than when he first spoke before.

Derek wrote this down as Scott spoke. “I taught myself guitar and I was the only one out of these idiots that could sing.”

“Barely.” Isaac snorted. Scott scoffed and hit him on the arm.

“I have a strong case of A.D.D,” Stiles said. “my hands never stopped moving as a kid. When sports didn’t work out the doctor suggested playing an instrument. I liked the drums.”

Derek stares at him for a minute, puzzling over him before just writing it down. Scott’s phone rings then and he picks up.

“’Lo?” He says. He smiles at whatever the other person says on the line. “Dude no fucking way!” he says. “We’ll be there in like ten minutes tops!” He shuts his phone and turns to the guys.

“Dudes, _Wolfsbane_ is at Deaton’s club right now!” Derek can practically see Scott buzzing with excitement.

“Allison’s band?” Stiles questions. “When was the last time you saw her?”

Scott flails his hands at Stiles. “Man I don’t know! But the love of my life is singing songs about hardcore bdsm sex right now like three towns over, I’m going.”

“Yeah, why not. Erica’s pretty hot.” Boyd says.

“I think you mean Lydia’s pretty hot.” Isaac smiles.

“They’re all attractive as fuck, now let’s go!” Scott groans. The boys grab the last of their things and put them into the van. Scott shuts the door and makes his way to the driver’s side while two of the other boys get in the back.

Scott turns to Stiles who hasn’t moved from where he’s standing in front of Derek. “Dude you coming?” Scott asks.

“I’ll catch up.” Stiles says, still staring at Derek. Derek tells himself that he’s not blushing.

Scott gives him a look before letting it go and hopping in the car. He rev’s up the engine and drives away, leaving the two boys by themselves.

“So is there something you-”

“How old are you?” Stiles interrupts.

“Uhm, 24?”

“Is that a question?”

“No?”

Stiles rolls his eyes before smiling and taking a last drag on his cigarette before tossing it on the ground and stomping it out.

“Listen, I haven’t seen a guy as hot as you in like a really long time and I’m pretty sure I fell in love with you and your hipster glasses the second I laid eyes on you.”

Derek frowns. “Uh, okay?”

Stiles just sighs, shaking his head. “You wanna get a drink?”

“Are you asking me out?”

“No, I’m asking if you want to get a fucking drink, yes or no?”

“Sure.”

Stiles’ smile splits his face. “Good, there’s a bar down the street, let’s go.”

Stiles leads the way out the back and Derek follows in step beside him.

“So, Derek, tell me about yourself.” Stiles says as they walk. It’s chillier outside now that the sun is gone, but there’s still a bit of that summer heat lingering by.

“You already know my job, my age, uh, I’m a Virgo, I like to cook, and honestly I hate the type of music your bands makes.”

Stiles fakes a wounded sound. “Dude, that was harsh.” He laughs. “I’m 22, trying and failing miserably at college, I’m a Gemini and I love the type of music my band makes.”

Derek laughs watching Stiles’ face break into another grin. Stiles stops in front of the place that must be the bar and they walk inside. It’s almost as packed as the club was before but Stiles manages to get them a table in the back.

As soon as they sit down there’s two beers placed in front of them and a woman kissing Stiles’ messy hair.

“Good to see ya kid, say hi to your father when you see him, yeah?” She says.

Stiles nods. “Of course.”

“You’ve been here before?” Derek asks as soon as she leaves.

Stiles takes a sip of his beer, nodding. “I live here, Beacon Hills, I mean, grew up here.”

“Really?” Derek asks.

Stiles chuckles. “Are you asking because you want to know, or are you asking because you’re going to write about it in your fancy newspaper?”

“I want to know more about you.” Is what Derek says.

Stiles eyes narrow a bit and the corner of his mouth tugs up. “Yes, I grew up here. My dad’s the Sherriff. Everyone knows him so everyone knew me before I was even in the band.”

Derek hums around his beer, taking in the sight in front of him. The dim lighting of the room and the slight buzz the beer is giving him is making Stiles look absolutely edible.

He might actually have to thank Kate.

“Where are you from Clark?” Stiles asks.

“Clark?” Derek says. “As in Clark Kent? Seriously?”

“Dude, you’re huge and you’ve got on the dorkiest glasses ever. So yeah, Clark.” Stiles presses.

Derek scoffs. “I lived on a preserve with my family not too far from here actually. There was a fire though, so I live with my sister now about twenty minutes from here.”

“That was your house?” Stiles asks.

Derek frowns. “You heard of it?”

“Course I did, Dad’s the Sherriff remember? And that was awful, man I’m sorry, at least no one was hurt.”

Derek nods, a lump forming in his throat. That was a rough time for him, for his whole family. They literally had to start from scratch again. He doesn’t realize he hasn’t actually said anything until he feels a pressure on his hand.

“You alright man?” It’s Stiles, his voice a lot softer than the squeeze of his hand.

“Yeah.” Derek smiles squeezing back, noticing the tattoo on the boy’s wrist. He thumbs over it, lightly, reading it aloud. “The kids are losing their minds.” Derek says. He looks at Stiles in question.

The boy smiles softly. “It’s the Ramones, Blitzkrieg Bop, my mom used to dance around the house to that song like every day. It was her favorite of theirs.”

“Used to?”

“She died my freshman year of high school. Cancer.”

“Sorry.”

Stiles swallows, tracing Derek’s fingers with his own where their interlinked. “Yeah.” He says. He coughs, drawing his hand back and taking a swing from his beer. “So you got any tattoos Mr…?” he trails, changing the subject.

“Hale, and yes, but I’d have to take my shirt off for that.”

A filthy grin appears on Stiles’ face. “Oh really now?”

Derek purses his lips. “Yes, I have four. Actually,” he lifts the sleeve of his t-shirt up to show Stiles the one on his arm. “I got this one right after I graduated high school.”

Stiles reaches over to touch his, his fingers skimming across the ink of the skull with the snake coming through its eyeball.

“Pretty badass for a hipster.” Stiles says. Derek rolls his eyes, still a bit preoccupied by the way Stiles fingers feel against the skin on his arm.

“We should get out of here.” Derek finds himself saying. He barely recognizes his own voice since it’s so low.

He watches the muscles in Stiles’ neck move as he swallows. “Or we could just go upstairs considering it’s where I live.”

“You live here?” Derek asks in surprise.

Stiles stands up and tugs at Derek’s arm until he follows. He brings them farther into the bar until they get to a set of stairs. Stiles pulls him up those as well, the heat of his hand hot against his.

When they reach the top Stiles pulls out a key and swiftly unlocks the door. They make their way inside, Derek closing the door behind them. He’s just about turn around and take in his surroundings when Stiles is on him, pressing him roughly against the door and slamming his mouth against his.

Derek finds the boy’s hips, digging his fingers into his flesh as Stiles’ tongue darts into his mouth, massaging against his and _holy shit is that a tongue ring_? He’s going to kill him, that’s it, Stiles is going to kill him.

Stiles’ fingers dig into the hair at Derek’s neck, using his other hand to fist into the material at Derek’s shirt. His tongue drags across the roof of Derek’s mouth, making him moan loudly.

“Fuck, I think I’m in love.” Stiles says pulling away. His eyes are hooded with lust, Derek brings a hand to stroke his cheek with his thumb before grabbing his jaw and pulling him back against his mouth.

Stiles starts stumbling backwards and Derek blindly follows as they kiss until Stiles is suddenly falling and Derek’s going down with him. Stiles bounces lightly when he hits his bed, just a mattress on the floor, taking his lips from Derek’s so he can bite at the man’s jaw, his neck.

Derek grabs at the hem of Stiles’ shirt, tugging it over his head.

“You too asshole.” Stiles grumbles, pulling at Derek’s shirt as well. It gets caught against his glasses for a minute making Stiles chuckle. “Dork.” He mutters.

 Derek scoffs, getting his shirt off and tossing his glasses on top of where he threw the garment. Stiles groans surging forward to lick at the tattoo on his left pectoral, his hand coming up to tug at Derek’s nipple ring.

“You’re un-fucking-believable.” Stiles mutters against his skin. “You were just supposed to be some hipster god but you have these tattoos and a fucking nipple piercing _who are you_?” Derek doesn’t think Stiles is actually talking to him, more so talking to himself. It’s hard to tell though because Stiles moves his tongue to his other pec to lick that tattoo and then he grabs his dick through his jeans at the same time.

Derek moans, grabbing at Stiles’ back to pull him closer, digging his nails into the other man’s skin. Stiles licks and kisses his way along Derek’s chest until he reaches the man’s mouth, claiming it once again. He lets Stiles grope at Derek’s belt buckle, groaning then.

“Pants off, dude, fuck.” Stiles drawls. Derek slides off his own pants and boxers as Stiles does the same, cock bouncing off the fabric of his boxers as he pulls them off.

As soon as all of their clothing is finally removed Derek shoves Stiles down onto his mattress, pinning the boy’s arms above his head as he sucks at the ring on one of his nipples. Stiles arches up, moaning loud enough to make Derek’s dick leak.

“Jesus Derek.” Stiles gets out. Derek hums around the metal ring, flicking with his tongue before dragging it upwards with his teeth. Stiles whines, moving his hips up so Derek feels exactly what he’s doing to the boy.

Derek let’s go of Stiles’ arms only to brace them on his hips to push him back down into the bed. He let’s go of the boy’s nipple, biting and marking the side of his neck without the tattoo instead.

“Derek, fuck, you need to stop or you need to blow me or fuck, I don’t know, I need to come.” Stiles grounds out, trying to cant his hips against Derek’s strong grip.

Derek slots their dicks together, biting at Stiles’ jaw before moving his lips to his ear. “You aren’t going to come until I fuck you.”

Stiles makes a noise again, aching for the friction of his cock against Derek’s. He kisses him roughly, biting and tugging at his bottom lip until shoving him off. Derek looks confused for a minute but he sees Stiles reaching under the bed, making noises of protest until coming back up.

“Here asshole,” he says shoving the bottle of lube he got from under his bed at Derek. “Let’s go.”

Derek takes it, uncaps it, and gets some on his fingers. He teases Stiles’ rim, pushing in a little bit, then finally letting his finger disappear inside of him. He looks at Stiles, a panting mess in front of him, watches as Stiles tugs at his own nipple ring, a groan let out low from his throat.

He works in another finger, lowering his head to Stiles’ cock, licking a stripe from the shaft the tip. When his tongue leaves him, he slides another finger in.

“You’re dirty.” Stiles gets out. “You’re a tease and I hate you.”

Derek curls his fingers inside him. “You said not ten minutes ago that you think you loved me, now you hate me?” he teases. “I’m hurt.”

“Fuck you.”

“Some other time.”

Stiles nearly bites off his bottom lip, thrusting his hips up involuntarily. “Derek, holy shit, get on with it.”

Derek doesn’t listen, adding another finger, working them slowly in and out of his body, curling them in just the right places. He’s honestly surprised Stiles hasn’t come yet. He’s surprised he hasn’t either.

He removes his fingers, trying to ignore Stiles sigh, for the loss or for the relief because he knows what’s coming Derek doesn’t know. Derek reaches over to where he discarded his pants, fishing into his back pocket for the condom he keeps there. He gets it, opens it and slides it on his dick quickly, giving himself a few tugs.

He lines himself up and teasingly slow, pushes in. Stiles’ moan turns into a whine and he surges forward grabbing at the back of Derek’s head to pull him down for a heated kiss. Derek thrusts forward, sucking on Stiles’ tongue, feeling the metal of his ring.

Stiles starts pushing back onto him, one hand snaking to his back to dig into the skin there while the other runs along his chest, the tips of his fingers brushing over his nipple.

Derek’s thrusts become harder as he kisses Stiles’ jaw, finally, finally sucking on the skin where the tattoo lays on his neck.

“Derek, touch me, Derek, please, fuck.” Stiles moans.

Derek wraps a hand around Stiles’ dick, working it with his thrusts until he feels the other man tighten, hears the wail Stiles makes as he comes. The noise he makes sends Derek over the edge, letting his teeth clamp down on Stiles’ tattoo, making his own mark on the boy’s skin while he fills the condom.

Derek lays there, collecting himself until he pulls out, kissing the bite mark he left of Stiles’ skin softly.

“Sorry.” He mutters.

“Dude are you fucking kidding me?” Stiles scoffs. Derek rolls off of Stiles, removing the condom and tying it, tossing it to the side. He turns back to him and perches an eyebrow. “You were probably the greatest lay I’ve had in forever. That was awesome okay. Like we should be having sex all the time.”

Derek smiles softly, rolling his eyes. “Aren’t you on tour?”

This time it’s Stiles who rolls his eyes. “We have a gig in Seattle tomorrow and then like five more shows in Washington. We’re done after that. Other than Boyd we’ve all got school.”

“What does Boyd do?” Derek asks.

“He does music lessons in town. Dude can play like every instrument known to man.” Stiles says. He sighs. “We should probably get cleaned up.”

Derek hums. “Probably.” He says, though he makes no move to get up. Stiles leans over, pressing his lips lightly to Derek’s.

“My shower’s big enough for two.” He offers.

“Is it now?” Derek smirks. Stiles kisses him again, pushing him off the bed until he gets up.

“Nice ass.” Stiles remarks once they're both standing. “I can’t wait to-what the fuck _is that another tattoo_?”

Derek was about to turn around but feels Stiles’ hand press against the tattoo at his back, tracing the three swirls with the tip of his fingers.

“Is there anything else I should know that’s going to make you even more ridiculously attractive?” Stiles huffs from behind him, he feels Stiles press a quick kiss to the ink on his back. Derek laughs, turning around to grab the boy’s wrist.

“You said something about a shower?” he says.

Stiles fake pouts. “But I want to play with your tattoos.”

“You can do that in the shower. We’ll take turns.” Derek offers. A grin breaks across Stiles’ face and he presses a quick kiss to Derek’s lips.

“Deal.” He breathes. He turns, pulling the man towards his bathroom.

They make good on that deal. More than once. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you didn't already know, credit to the title and Stiles' wrist tattoo goes to the ever lovely Ramones.


End file.
